Devil's Night
by The Real F'n Scorp
Summary: Batman had been ruining his life (and experiments) for the better part of the last few years. Well, no more. This time he was going to emerge as the victor! He was going to turn Gotham into one huge City of Fear. And there was absolutely nothing that Batman or his flying brat could do to stop him. AU that contains a bit of an origins tale for a future Robin.
1. So it begins

**A/N:** Hello m'dears…

To all new followers, welcome! Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but this story's original theme as well as all characters created for the purpose of telling this story. DC owns everything else. Also, this is a re-post of my original story, **City of Fear**. This story is being modified and brought up to new, and _hopefully_ more attractive standards.

* * *

Chaos came to envelope Gotham in its sinewy and seductive arms on a night appropriately entitled _Devil's Night_.

It was the night when cities all around the world feared the disordered mayhem and fiery pandemonium that could erupt. In Gotham, this, of course, was not an unusual occurrence. Most of their villains loved picking holidays as the time to unleash murder and mayhem upon the innocent of the city. Raya Kean (like anyone else who'd spent more than a day walking the cobblestone streets) knew _bedlam_ and _Gotham_ went together as well as peanut butter and chocolate, rum and coke, and mustard on a hot dog. In a city like Gotham (which had seen more violence than a war zone), you stood a better chance at being run down or shot than you did at making it to your next birthday.

Every day-week-month brought a fresh horror. Every second-minute-hour you remained in this northeastern city became a new nightmare. Most often, the faint hint of an all too familiar high pitched cackle could be heard echoing along whatever breeze is blowing, reminding the people of this city that an anachronistic sociopath in white face paint and royal purple merino and ivory silk was lurking in some dark corner.

And that he was laughing.

At them.

Ah, but it was those who'd _lived_ in Gotham for all of their lives who knew that when this city was _quiet_ was when it was at its very most dangerous.

Raya, herself had learned this at the tender age of eight. It had been on Christmas night, six years ago (_has it really been six years_? she mused with a shudder), when she'd discovered that when Gotham was silent was when one needed to be their most vigilant. Looks were deceiving, and the people that you thought you could trust to help you during those times? _That a child should be able to trust to help them during those times_, she amended silently. Well, they in fact could turn out to be the very villains a child needed protection from. She'd told Dick Grayson (her best friend turned crime fighting partner) when he'd asked her once about her antipathy for the law and the majority of those who worked for the GCPD that, "you quickly learn in this city that the lines of the law are not always painted in black and white. And," she'd gone on to explain when he merely gave her an inquisitive look. "The saviors of this city do not always wear a blue uniform or bang a gavel."

When he'd asked her to explain what she meant, she'd told him simply, "In Gotham? The good guys can turn out to be the bad guys. And the bad guys?" she'd said with just a hint of bitterness lacing her voice. "Well, the bad guys can be the ones wearing the badges, and masquerading as _Officers of the Law_."

Raya knew that at that very moment there were an innumerable amount of shady deals and clandestine meetings going on in Gotham's underground district. There were at least a half dozen acts of violence (domestic and criminal) being perpetrated behind the closed doors of homes in the Bristol District, as well as in North Gotham. Seedy nightclubs that hid a dirty trade in human flesh were just opening their doors to their _exclusive_ clientele.

There were any number of guns being sold down at the docks, drugs being bought in the shadowy confines of an innumerable amount of alleyways, and gangs planning hits on rival gangs in an attempt to take over the others _turf_. She knew the Falcones as well as men like Oswald Cobblepot, and Roman Sionis were sliding envelopes full of cash to those cops not yet exposed as crooked. Men like Two-Face were holding court in whatever underground hovel the former poster boy of Gotham could find to rule over while men like Victor Zsasz (who was criminally insane) plotted who his next victims were going to be once he escaped from Arkham Asylum.

Quite simply, the streets of Gotham were a chess board where the white pieces were each and every one of the innocent (and some who were not-so-innocent, but undeserving of the violent ends planned for them) Gothamites and the black each and every one of the criminals who wanted to knock over their King and take control of the board.

Hell erupted in a hailstorm of thunder, lightning and an ominous boom which sounded above the roar that shattered the stillness of the October night. At first, Raya thought it merely was the sound of a semi-truck backfiring. Then she realized that the walls of her uncle's office wouldn't rattle just because of a truck backfiring. A frown puckered her brow as she glanced up from her Chemistry textbook (homework being a mandatory priority of not only her uncle, but her masked mentor and second parental figure as well) and turned her head to look out the window. Even from here she could see police flashers tossing eerily dancing shadows upon the buildings as they screamed out of the parking garage and headed towards the road that led to Gotham Bay.

_They're heading towards Blackgate, _she mused, green eyes narrowing in speculation behind the lenses of the silver framed glasses she wore. _Do I even need to guess just who might be staging his breakout here_?

That she suspected the Joker and nobody else was of no surprise in her mind. If chaos was engulfing Gotham? The Joker was your most likeliest of fire starters. Raya pushed away from her uncle's desk and walked over to stare out at the city that was about to be used (once again) as the stage for what would surely become the most tragic of plays. Against the smooth velvet of the sky, the Batsymbol shone like a warm beacon of hope, telling the good people of this city that they were not alone in this war.

A smile curved her lips as she thought about the two men who were even now readying themselves to join the police in stopping whichever of Gotham's super criminals had decided it was a good night to become an agent of chaos (and the agent she believed most likely making his bid for freedom was the one who so loved playing violent games with Batman and Robin). Eerie words from Shakespeare's _Macbeth_ danced into her mind, and became the fitting way in which to describe the anarchy about to engulf this city in its festering web.

"'_Blood will have blood'," _she whispered into the burning silence.

The explosion that shattered the stillness of the night heralded the opening act of the particular play about to be put on for the enjoyment of the criminal set alone. Whichever of Gotham's super criminals was the mastermind behind this plays particular plot (_and who else could it be, but the Joker_? she thought peevishly) was definitely one of their more violent individuals (see: Joker). They were an animal, barely worth considering as being human for setting off a bomb intended to hurt dozens of innocent people. Ah but would say Shakespeare that, "'_fair is foul and foul is fair'_."

Like the greatest of his tragedies, this particular plot would be dominated by bloodshed. Again came the lightning and thunder, the foreboding foreteller of the sequence of events about to be unveiled. Ah, but the rain, at least, had slowed to a steady, drumming splatter. The worst of the fall storm had passed to the East. A part of her noted the appropriate sound and lighting effects. After all, this scene was the opening of the drama and most important to the development of the plot. All the action turned on it. All the players depended upon it. She drew a deep controlling breath and sent up a prayer to whatever deity was on duty to keep the men she loved safe.

"Hey, kiddo," Raya heard a gruff voice say behind her.

She turned and saw Detective Harvey Bullock standing in the open doorway, his tan trench coat in one hand and a faded brown fedora in the other. "C'mon," he said with a slightly crooked smile. "Your uncle wants me ta get ya home before things get any worse out there."

Raya scooped her hair out of her face and flashed him a smile. Following her near kidnapping a few years ago by a group of men led by Matthew Branson, she'd grown suspicious and wary of the officers who served in her uncle's unit. Harvey Bullock was the only one, besides her uncle, who she knew she could trust. Harvey was on the up and up, a good cop who could pretend to do bad things simply because that was how _good_ a cop he was.

He was also the only member of her uncle's squad she trusted, and would agree to leave the GCPD in the company of. Something Commissioner James Gordon would have counted upon when he asked the veteran detective to be the one who escorted her home. Raya knew _home_ that night was going to be the Wayne Penthouse since Barbara was spending the night at a friends and both her uncle and his new wife, Sarah were needed to handle whatever mess was going on at Blackgate.

Nobody would be at home to keep watch over her (not that she minded) and make sure that her biological father, Matthew Berkeley Jr. didn't make good on his threat to kidnap her. And when nobody could be at home with her? Home became Wayne Manor (or the penthouse suite in Wayne Towers), so that Bruce Wayne could make sure she was safe. In reality it was Alfred who kept an eye on her (and on Dick when he wasn't out on patrol with Bruce), but nobody needed to know that (besides her uncle, of course).

_You're always looking out for me, _she said to the absent Commissioner_. Even when you have an entire city, a legion of cops, dozens of bad guys and the Dynamic Duo to worry about, you still take the time to make sure I'm going to be watched over and taken care of._

And that, she knew, was because Jim Gordon saw himself as being less her _uncle_ and more as her _dad_. He didn't treat her and Barbara differently from the other. They were his girls and that was all there was to it. She felt a rush of warmth start in the pit of her belly before it spread outward to heat the rest of her chilled body. It always amazed her how she not only had Jim Gordon that wanted to be her father, but also the extremely eccentric _Bruce Wayne_ as well. _Yup, _she though now_. For a girl who started life with no parents whatsoever_, _I've certainly hit the jackpot with the two I've been given._

"What's going on out there, Mr. Bullock?" she politely asked as she stepped over to the desk and slid her textbook back into her backpack. "I can see a lot of police cruisers heading towards Blackgate Prison. Which one of our super criminals," she paused and gave him a look that told Harvey just who she figured said criminal was, "has decided that tonight is a good night for them to come out and play?"

"Never youse mind about what's going on over at Blackgate," Harvey informed her in a gruff voice. He plopped his hat on his head. "Just get your stuff together so I can get ya home."

His prevaricating only caused suspicion to flare to life inside Raya.

* * *

Harvey knew he'd made a mistake when he saw those dark brows draw together over her pert nose. Oh, he could see the wheels of that little mind turning, twisting his words around until she formulated just what it was he meant. And he knew exactly when she'd reached the conclusion he'd been hoping to avoid her reaching. Her face scrunched up in such a way that he knew she was doing the one thing he'd hoped to avoid: worrying.

"Don't youse worry about your uncle, kiddo," he rumbled.

That just earned him a _look_. And hell, even on the face of this fourteen-year-old pixie he knew what that _look_ meant. He should know that look by now, he realized as a smirk twisted one corner of his mouth. It was the same one his wife and kids got whenever he told _them_ not to worry about something going on in this shit hole of a city. It was a look that told him without words, _I'm gonna worry anyway_. Hell, he knew the kid was concerned about her uncle being out there while one of Gotham's nutcase roamed free. Raya had become even more protective of him and her cousin (as well as Wayne and his ward) since her mother's death.

"Is my uncle going to be okay out there without you, Mr. Bullock?" she asked him then in this small voice that broke Harvey's heart to hear. "I can call Mr. Wayne and have him come and get me if needs be."

Harvey softened (as he so frequently did when it came to this girl) and said, "Batman's already been called ta help deal with the situation, kiddo. There's no need for ya ta worry."

* * *

_And where Batman goes tonight_, _Robin is going to be right there beside him_. Raya didn't tell Bullock that though. It was an agreed upon thing that she would not mention anything about Batman and Robin to anybody but her uncle. So she merely gave a nod of her head while grabbing hold of the strap of her book bag.

"Youse ready?" he asked as he pulled on his coat. "Sure youse got everything?"

"I've got everything," she replied, gracing him with one of those rare, enigmatic smiles she had. Bullock settled one of his large hands on her shoulders, squeezing it gently.

"C'mon then."

Raya followed him out the building without another word. She walked with him towards the police parking lot that was next to the towering building, only occasionally casting furtive glances towards the island where Blackgate was housed. Something was wrong about this entire fiasco, she could feel it in her bones. She just couldn't put her finger on what was bothering her about this situation. She made a note to speak of her concerns with Alfred when she got to the penthouse.

Raya noticed a SWAT van parked across the street then. Of itself, it wasn't an unusual scene. Not when mayhem was being unleashed upon the city. It was the sight of several uniformed and vested officers standing around it, talking and laughing that struck her out of place. She didn't recognize three of the four men standing there, but new recruits were being brought in all the time in which to combat the crime problem Gotham had. No, it was the sight of little boy, only about five or six by the looks of him, with hair as dark as her own and streaks of tears upon his filthy face that was tugging at the pants leg of one of the vested officers that captured the teen's attention.

"I can't find Mrs. Mac," she heard the boy whimper. "Can you help me?"

"Get away from me, ya brat!" The officer snarled a second before he shoved the boy. The other officers laughed and jeered as the boy tumbled back with a cry, flaying his tiny arms in order to keep his balance. He landed in a puddle of muddy water with a splash. The officers howled as stagnant water ran in rivulets down his face. Raya felt her temper swell and instantly raced across the street to him.

"Are you okay?" she asked as she dropped to her knees in front of him. He stared up at her with these huge, red-rimmed eyes that were the deepest shade of blue she'd ever seen (_they are darker than even Bruce's_, she thought latently).

"Uh-huh," was all he said.

She used her sleeve to wipe a bit of the grim from his face before helping him to his feet. "Will you come with me?" she questioned gently.

"Will you help find Mrs. Mac?"

His lower lip quivered in a way that melted her heart. She took a moment to cuddle him. "I'll help you find her," she promised him.

Then she turned to shoot a heated glare at the offending officer.

"Hey, what the hell's wrong with you?" she demanded. "You can't shove a kid and expect to get away with it! I'm going to report you to my uncle for this, pal!"

The officer merely turned away from her, completely dismissing her and returning to his earlier conversation. Raya's eyebrows shot up. _Oh, it's on now douche bag_, she thought furiously. As she held the boy's hand she shouted at him.

"Hey! Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

The officer turned, drew his pistol from his holster, and aimed it right at Raya. She let out a squawk at the man's audacity, but remained absolutely still. She heard the boy gasp and felt him burrow against her side but didn't dare try to comfort him at that moment. The other officers closed in, their leering faces finally registering and telling Raya that there was something more than a little wrong about this night. she was about to find out how wrong when a low, sinister laugh echoed from the shadowy alleyway behind them.

"Now is that any way in which to treat a child?"

It was a voice Raya recognized instantly. Polished and cultured, rich with intelligence and slippery with an underlying hint of the madness that had fractured the man's soul in two.

_Oh no, _she thought wildly_. __Not him. Please, God, not him_.

Even as her heartbeat slowed to barely a tick, she watched as a man wearing frayed and pieced together brown clothing and a burlap gas mask stepped out from the rear of the van. The needles of the glove adorning his one hand scratched the side of the SWAT van, sounding like nails scraping a chalkboard. She cringed and put the boy behind her, instinctively placing herself between him and this madman. _Not the Joker_, she realized as the blood drained from her face. _It never was the Joker. It was Crane. He's who masterminded whatever is going on at Blackgate_.

It wasn't like she needed to wonder why_: Inceptive_.

Crane laughed again as he scuttled closer. "Hello, my dear," he simpered. "Enjoying your _Devil Night's_ play date?"

Raya felt her stomach curdle as she stood there staring at very last man she wanted to find herself standing face to face with. Then she saw a bulky industrial machine of some sort with an ominously glowing red button being drug out of the van by two of the _officers_.

"What are up too, Crane?" she managed to hiss around the balls of cotton in her mouth. "What are you planning to do with that machine?"

It wasn't like she had to guess.

"Why, I am going to show Gotham that at the end of _fear_," he cooed. "Is _oblivion_."

He pressed that flashing button then and laughed, a high shrill, cackle that shot chills up and down Raya's spine.

_Oh, Bruce, I have never needed you and Dick more than I do at this moment, _was her final thought.


	2. Chaos Erupts

**A/N:** Hello m'dears…

To all new followers, welcome! Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

* * *

"Hey, what the hell's wrong with you?" he heard Raya demanding in a hard voice. "You can't shove a kid and expect to get away with it! I'm going to report you to my uncle for this, pal!"

Bullock just shook his head, and felt his lips creep up into a smirk. He _really _shoulda insisted that the sprite walk in front of him so that he coulda kept a better eye on her. _Welp, better find out who or what has caused the sprocket to be in such a high dudgeon_.

He grunted as he turned. He instantly spied Raya with her hand in that of some ragamuffins, her eyes blazing green fire and her jaw set in that way that Jim had when something had _really _gotten his dander up.

_Didn't know better, I'd swear the girl was yours and not Berkeley's, Jim_.

Bullock heaved a sigh and told himself he really should not be all that surprised that the sprite had somehow managed to find a cause when she shouldn't be looking for one. That the cause for her having left his side had turned out to be another kid (and a tiny tyke at that) did not surprise the veteran detective any. Raya was not one who could stand by and watch as a kid was victimized, oh, hell no (and he'd be ashamed of her if she did).

It had become the joke of the entire Major Crimes division about how they should have Raya teach ethics at the police academy. _But then_, he thought fondly as he reached into his coat pocket for a cigarette, _she got her sense of justice and moral integrity from Jim_. Jim didn't put up with these kinds of shenanigans any more than his niece did. He'd set an example for his children (all three of them), taught them not only how a good cop should conduct his or herself, but how a decent human being responded when they saw something they knew was not right.

It was a lesson Raya took to heart.

Whenever she saw any type of injustice being perpetrated she set up a howl that would wake the dead. And if she couldn't get a cop, teacher, or other adult to pay attention to whatever she was trying to tell them? Well, she had absolutely no problem whatsoever calling in Batman for the assist. _She called him the night Jim was kidnapped by Branson and his stooges_, Bullock recalled with a grimace.

That night was one he'd regret for the rest of his life. There'd she been, all of eight-years-old and knowing something bad had happened to her uncle. And he hadn't listened to her when she'd tried to tell him that something had happened, that something was wrong and that somebody needed to go and find the then police Captain. He'd gotten short with her, told her brusquely to take her "scrawny butt right back to" her uncle's "office and stay there."

Had she?

Absolutely not.

Raya had seen that something was wrong and figured if he wasn't going to do anything about it then she'd call in someone who would. She'd raced to the roof of the old GCPD building, fashioned a symbol out of a piece of paper and affixed it to one of the klieg spotlights in order to send out a distress call to the only man she figured would be able to rescue her uncle.

_So, what is it that's got ya in a dither, kiddo_? Bullock silently asked the teen while he lit a cigarette.

He took a drag while he got ready to watch as the spunky teen tore into whoever it was that he had earned her ire. That Raya had a wit as sharp as barbed wire was legendary among the Major Crimes Unit. His eyes widened in shock, though, when a rookie officer (he believed the kid's name was Dawson) pulled his pistol and aimed it right at the petite girl with an expression upon his face that chilled Bullock to the marrow.

Raya let out an indignant squawk, but didn't move so much as a muscle. He could see the blood had drained from her face, and that her eyes were these huge saucers dominating the majority of it. The little boy standing beside her let out a high pitched shriek and instantly tucked himself against her, his tiny arms winding around her left leg like moss around a tree trunk. The other "officers" started closing in, their leering faces causing his heart to skip a beat. Then pure rage surged within the veteran detective.

_Just who did these punks think they were_? Bullock thought as his eyes narrowed into thin, dangerous slits. _Aim a gun at a kid? _Jim's _kid_?

Not on his watch.

This was more than just conduct that was absolutely unbecoming of anybody, much less an officer of the law. This was a crime of the lowest order. Y_ou wanna threaten two kids? Gotta go through me first, ya assholes_. He was a bulldog who was being let off his leash after being told "sic 'em boy." He let out a feral growl and went to barrel across the street in order to tear the "officers" to pieces for daring to threaten two innocent kids, much less one who was the niece of their Commanding officer. He'd only just made it off the curb when a low, sinister laugh echoed from the alleyway behind the SWAT vehicle.

"Now is that any way in which to treat a child?"

Bullock felt his blood run cold as he spotted the masked figure that scuttled out of the darkness. Attired in an outfit comprised of frayed and pieced together brown cloth and a burlap gas mask, the Scarecrow appeared from behind the van. Bullock's stomach lurched violently when he realized Raya was now standing face-to-face with the last man she needed to find herself standing off against. _Only that pasty faced son of a bitch would be worse than the Scarecrow_, he thought while he automatically reached for his own pistol.

His hand froze in mid-reach when he saw the doctor shuffle closer towards Raya, his long, elongated dactyls stretching out to sweep over the girl's pale cheek.

"Hello, my dear," the man all but cooed. "Enjoying _Devil Night's_?"

Raya barred her teeth in a wordless snarl and slapped his hand away. Seeing the pluckiness of the fourteen-year-old disturbed the ulcer he'd been ignoring for the last two months. _Stand down, kiddo_, he silently urged the girl. _Don't push him into gasing ya. _Then the detective spied the two men dressed in (what Bullock assumed was stolen) SWAT gear set a bulky industrial machine with an ominously glowing red button on the pavement behind the softly cackling madman. Bullock's breath expelled in a rush. He had known the situation was going to be bad soon as he saw the Scarecrow was involved, but he hadn't realized just how bad it was going to be. He grasped the point of what he was seeing quite well. And the implications of what the Scarecrow was planning were horribly, horribly clear.

It wasn't like he needed to wonder what the sick bastard was after here_: Raya._

"What are up too, Crane?" he heard her ask in a breathy voice. "What are you planning to do with that machine?"

It wasn't like he (or the sprocket from the look upon her face) had to guess about what it was that he was planning to do with that machine. It was pretty clear he intended to,do one thing: _gas Gotham_.

"Why, I am going to show Gotham that at the end of _fear_," he cooed. "Is _oblivion_."

Bullock forced his legs to move, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest and knees as he tried to reach the girl who was standing in the middle of the disaster zone. However the Scarecrow pressed that flashing button before he could make it halfway across the street, laughing, a high shrill, giggle that shot chills up and down Bullock's spine.

_Shit_, he thought as his heart dropped down into his feet. _Shit, shit, shit_...

* * *

For over two hours, Gordon, Detective Johnson, and a uniformed officer named Markinson had been prowling the streets and alleys around a section of Gotham known as the Narrows in search of an escaped convict by the name of Harold Davis. Gordon was acutely aware of the fact that people were watching them from windows and fire escapes. The police were seen as the enemy in this part of Gotham. The people of this small community had lost faith in those who wore badges long before Gordon had become a member of the GCPD.

It was something he routinely worked to try and correct.

His flashlight beam landed upon a man dressed in Blackgate Penitentiary's dingy orange coveralls. He was cowering behind a dumpster overflowing with refuse.

"If you come quietly, Davis," Gordon called out in a calm, clear voice, "I will see to it that you are transferred to solitary as you requested."

"Jim!" Johnson hissed at his side. "Don't promise the vermin anything!"

"Be quiet, detective," Gordon replied firmly. He kept his eyes trained upon the visibly trembling man. "What's it going to be, son? Are you going to come quietly or are we going to have to chase you down like an animal?"

Davis, realizing he'd been caught (and not wanting to go back, clearly) chose to take off down a side alley.

"Keep your light on him, sir!" Officer Markinson called over his shoulder as he shot off after him.

He brought the slender man down with a flying tackle. The inmate flipped over before Markinson could cuff him, and landed a punch upon the uniformed officer that rocked his head to the side. He got up to again run, but Johnson grabbed him and slammed him up against the side of a rundown building, hard.

"Police brutality right there," someone yelled from above. "Someone should report _you _for the animals that _you _are!"

Johnson cut them a scathing look. "Wanna take this dirtbag into your home and let him around your sixteen-year-old daughter? No? Then shut up."

"Johnson," Gordon snapped. "That's enough."

Johnson cuffed the guy without another word.

"Hey, Commissioner," one of the other uniforms shouted, "someone said that I was ta give this to ya."

Gordon flashed his light up the street and watched the officer (Levinson he thought his name was), come towards him.

"What is it?" he asked the officer.

"I dunno. Your… friend's _partner _just asked me to give you this." He passed over the syringe that had been given to him. "Said ta tell ya that the Scarecrow is the one causing the mayhem and that tf you run into him and he tries ta dose ya with his toxin that this will counter its effects."

Gordon took the syringe.

"Did Robin say what Batman was going to be doing about stopping the Scarecrow?"

The officer nodded. "He said Batman is heading out ta Blackgate ta investigate the bomb that went off twenty minutes ago."

"And himself? What's Robin going to be doing while Batman investigates what happened at Blackgate?"

If Gordon found it strange that he was asking about what a fourteen-year-old kid was going to be doing about stopping a madman on the loose, it didn't show on his face. Only briefly was he thankful that he'd asked Harvey to make sure that Raya was escorted home. The last thing he needed right now was to worry about his girl being caught in the middle of whatever was going on in Gotham that night.

"Said he'll be heading out ta Arkham in order ta start tracking down where the Scarecrow is and what he might be up ta."

"Okay, thank you, officer. Now help Markinson get Davis into the back of the car so we can go about helping prevent whatever it is that the Scarecrow has planned."

"Yes, sir."

Gordon turned to walk towards his car when a sound, much like a thousand cannons all being fired at once filled the night.

"What the hell's going on now?" he heard Johnson shout.

"Do something!" one of the citizens shouted from their windows. "For the love of God, please, do something!"

But the only thing that Gordon, the cops and the small group of citizens could do was watch as the streets became engulfed in a torrent of madness. Within seconds, the chaos swirled like a tornado and engulfed the entire city in its path of destruction. It was as if a thousand bombs had been dumped upon the city. Fire hydrants blew their caps and gushed like geysers. Manholes were blasted high into the air. Sewer pipes burst, street lamps exploded, and the city went black as the entrance to hell. The streets were soon filled with broken glass and water sliding out from under foundations and pouring from bathrooms and kitchens all throughout Gotham.

The cobblestone streets became flooded and cars and people soon became stranded in the toxic onslaught. Alarms began to ring all over the city and emergency sirens shrieked. Thousands of Gothamites were awakened by the cataclysmic blast, blinked sleepy eyes, stared at clocks and then out of windows, asking, "What's going on, now?" before they reached for phones and computers in order to call family and friends to ask if any of them knew what the hell was happening.

In a nursing home over by Gotham General, a group of men in their eighties and nineties found where they'd stashed their M1911's and told each other that they knew the Nazi's would come back one day. People caught out on the streets raced to the nearest house of worship while dozens upon dozens of others clutched their loved ones tight and prayed for the madness to come to an end. They'd be sadly disappointed, however. For over at Blackgate Penitentiary, the power outage opened locks and tossed open cell doors, releasing a swarm of evil upon the already beleaguered city.

* * *

Something had exploded next to Raya, throwing her backwards, and she felt something hot pierce her cheeks and forehead. Her blouse was ripped along one arm and her elbow was throbbing-that was the first thing she became aware of. She blinked her eyes and slowly sat up, trying to make sense of what was going on. The street was filling with... what? she wondered. Smoke? No, there were no fires. So what was it? It was a vaporous like steam, she dimly realized. As if someone had turned on the hot water and allowed it to flood the city. But no, that wasn't right.

Crane had pushed a button on his machine... wait, that's it, she realized, her stomach heaving with a greasy wave of nausea so powerful she nearly vomited the contents of her stomach. Crane must have unearthed a new type of fear toxin, one that when combined with water would cause a type of steam. This is a hallucinogenic mist. Raya let out a small gasp as the implications, as well as the ramifications of her deduction, became startlingly clear. I have to get into contact with Bruce and Dick. They need to know what he has unleashed upon the city. She heard a soft whimper then and glanced over to see the dark haired boy lying face down next to the right rear tire of the van. He was hurt. She began crawling towards him on her hands and knees.

* * *

Gordon was standing near a manhole when the lid flew into the air like a bottle rocket, taking parts of the street and closest building with it. Mortar and cobblestone rained down, a piece of which struck Gordon in the side of the head. He went down and heard one of his officers shout something incoherently at him. Another blast sounded close to him and he felt something pierce his arm, face and neck. When he laid his hand on his neck, his fingers came back sticky with blood and bits of glass and diet.

In that moment he knew that whatever the Scarecrow had been planning had just been unleashed. Gotham was once again an open war zone. On one side was himself and some of the finest officers (all men and women that Gordon personally selected for his unit) to ever work for the GCPD, and on the other was this fiend and his band of masked vermin. Nobody, not even Batman, could have predicted that this was what the crazed madman was going to do. How could they have? It just didn't seem possible. He got to his feet and felt warm blood running down the side of his face like hot caramel.

A thin mist slowly began to roll like an ocean wave down the street, sliding over anything and everything that fell in its path. He saw Officer Markinson, a blurred silhouette, waving his arms and screaming. At what? Something Gordon couldn't see? Or... something that wasn't actually there? Markinson yanked his pistol from its holster and began firing wildly. The flash from the muzzle of the gun elongated and became serpents that streaked towards Gordon, hissing fire-

He was hallucinating and knew he'd only have only a few seconds before his rational mind would become bound within the toxin's neurological compound. He fumbled for his radio and tried to send out a message for whoever was not in the area to fall back and get indoors if they could. He got the radio out, but then he had a problem; his thumb and fingers had gone numb and he couldn't press the button to make the radio work.

He fumbled the radio in his frustration, dropping it and was bending down to retrieve it when he felt something jab into his arm. He let out a grunt when he felt liquid nitrogen sizzle into his vein. His fingers regained feeling. He turned just as something went singing past his ear. Markinson was still waving his gun and shooting; a bullet missed Gordon by mere inches. Now Markinson was aiming at the masked teen, Robin he silently corrected, who was standing beside him.

"John-no!" Gordon shouted.

Markinson either did not, or could not, hear him. Robin brought the man down with a flying tackle. They locked arms and legs and rolled upon the cobblestone. Markinson got an arm free at one point and landed a punch that rocked the younger boy's head to the side. Markinson rolled on top of Robin and tried to get his hands around the teenager's throat. Gordon lurched forward, meaning to help subdue the officer, but Robin landed an upwards palm thrust to the man's chin that knocked him loose.

Robin pulled another syringe from his pouch and jabbed it into Markinson's arm before he dragged the man over to a pipe and used his own cuffs to cuff him to it. Gordon walked towards him but stopped when he heard a sound begin to rise up all around him. It began as a low wail at first. Then it rose into a howl that increased with volume and intensity until it seemed to become the only ambient sound in the entire universe. _What the hell_...? Gordon shared a look with Robin and saw the teen crime fighter had realized what the sound was at the same instant he had.

It was the sound of many voices, thousands upon thousands of them, all wailing in mortal terror.


	3. Fear Rises

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope the week has been a good one to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

* * *

In the space of the three seconds that it took for her to crawl over to the whimpering boy, Raya realized something very bad was about to happen in the city of Gotham. The mist was forming a plushy blanket over the street, making it impossible to see more than two inches in front of her face. She knew that Crane's infamous fear toxin had infected her. Already she could feel the back of her throat burning. A fly buzzed by her ear, startling her and she choked on her gasp. Her eyes began to water and she knuckled the moisture away before she looked up...

..._winged figure's slithered out from a hollow opening in the vaporous mist, glowing red orbs winking playfully, and searing fangs dripping ooze as they stretch into feral grins_.

Raya stifled a shriek and tossed her arms over her head. She knew she'd been drugged, just like everyone else in the city was about to be drugged. The fear toxin was in the steam caressing her skin, sliding beneath the fringe of her consciousness and storming the gates of her unprotected mind. The edges of her vision blurred and all she could see was her father's face staring at her from the swirling shadows.

"No," she whispered. "I won't go back there. Not now..."

The past came rushing up to grab hold of her anyway, tossing her helplessly back in time to a night she'd never forget for as long as she lived...

* * *

"Where do you think you're going, Princess?"

The man whose face was inches from hers reached up to sweep her dark curls out of her face. It was only with an extreme effort that she repressed the shudder that his touch elicited. Then he reached out, and those slender fingers brushed her cheek.

She went cold to the marrow.

"Well, Princess?" he asked in a low, dark purr. "Don't you have an answer for daddy?"

* * *

"No!" she growled, shoving against the fear trying to swallow her in its madness with a show of will that impressed the figure standing nearby and watching. She heard the little boy sobbing next to her, calling for his mother and father, whimpering as whatever things a little boy like this could fear manifested in his mind. _God, what must you be seeing? _she asked him silently_. _

It was enough to snap her back to reality, though.

Raya willed her fear aside-not away for that was beyond her, and drew the sobbing child (_Tim? Is his name Tim_? She feverishly wracked her fear-soaked brain for the answer) into her lap. Fury rose up to strangle the fear as she gently rocked with him, murmuring nonsensical words in hopes it would chase away his demons. _How dare Crane_! she fumed silently. It went against every fiber of her being to see the disgraced doctor conducting his perverted experiment upon this little boy.

It was little wonder his license to practice psychiatric medicine was yanked! The ethical violations he was breaking here alone would have had the APA in fits! Raya dimly realized that the sooner she could make contact with Bruce, the sooner Crane was going to be made to pay for the horrors he'd inflicted upon so many innocent Gothamites this night. _And upon this little boy most of all_, she thought heatedly.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay," she murmured to him. "Nobody's gonna hurt you. I promise."

"Oh, I wouldn't advise making such a promise to one so young and impressionable," that slippery smooth voice said from behind her. She curved her body instinctively around the child's shivering form and glared up into flashing yellow eyes and an oral cavity with wriggling ropes and...

..._maggots and worms boiled up and out of the mask's empty eyeholes, rained down from out of that gaping black maw_.

Raya hammered back the burst of fear, focusing solely upon the child who clung desperately to her. A dark, skeletal shape emerged from out of the mist. It was Crane, wearing his burlap mask. She saw other figures begin to gather behind him. It didn't take much to figure out that they were the prisoners who'd been awaiting transport in the prison van she'd seen when she left the GCPD.

"You'll pay for this," she hissed at the emaciated figure. "You understand me? You are gonna pay for what you have done to the people of Gotham tonight."

"And pray tell who," the Scarecrow simpered in a voice which grated upon her already raw nerves, "do you think is going to make me pay, Miss Berkeley? _Batman_?" He laughed, one high pitched cackle that had her lips peeling back in a wordless snarl. "Or his little _Robin_?"

Raya may have been all of fourteen, but she was far from stupid. Scarecrow was a licensed Psychologist with years of experience in conducting psychological research. Just like her grandfather, he would have given thought to the topic he was researching. He would have carefully selected the research method he would use to test his variables. He would set the parameters of that method and stage how the experiment would be conducted, and by whom. He'd have taken all possible outliers and confounding variables into consideration in order to ensure his results were conclusive, valid and reputable.

That he was not worried at all about either Batman or Robin coming for him and potentially skewing his data could mean only one thing: he had a contingency plan in place in which to stop them. But what type of plan he might have come up with she could only speculate at. The answer flashed into Raya then, warm and bright: _her_.

He'd addressed her as _Miss Berkeley_, she realized, her eyes blinking wide and her breath whistling out from between her teeth. It meant he not only knew who _she_ was, but that she was an ally of _both_ the Dark Knight and his young partner. He was planning on using _her_ in order to trap Batman and Robin so they would not be able to put a halt to his despicable experiment. It not only explained why the fiend was there in the first place, but also why he'd chosen to unleash his diabolical machine outside the GCPD. It was all one elaborately contrived plot meant to bring Gotham's dynamic duo to their knees.

And it all revolved around _her_.

_The hell with that_ _and with him_, she thought as she tossed her head and glared up into those flashing eyes. _I'll never help lure Bruce and Dick into danger. _She scrambled to her feet with the boy still in her arms and tore off into the dense fog.

"After her!" Scarecrow snapped shrilly at the figures surrounding him.

Raya heard feet pounding behind her and raced into the alleyway that the Scarecrow had slunk out of. Ensuring the safety of the boy in her arms was her only priority at that moment. She had to get him to higher grounds somehow. Exactly how she was going to accomplish that feat was going to be rather difficult. Without a grapnel line she could not get them to the roofs of any of the buildings she raced past. Nor could she rightly scale the side of the building with him in her arms.

She needed to find some place where she could use the flare Bruce ordered her to carry. It was an established distress signal, one meant to be used if she could not reach him any other way. But she had to use the flare some place where she and the child could hole up in as they waited for help to arrive. The question on her mind currently was _where_. She stumbled and crashed into a trio of garbage cans, but stubbornly pushed on. Stopping meant the death of this boy. She wouldn't let that happen. She'd stay between him and the very real monsters stalking them from the mist induced darkness. She turned down another alley and stopped.

Dead end.

They had nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.

They were trapped.

Raya felt her world tilt and then slowly begin to crumble. She was alone, without any of the gear Bruce had given her, not dressed in the body armor he'd had specially designed for her, extremely low on options, and the only adult available to protect a defenseless kid. She heard a giggle, faint and unmistakable and turned to watch as the Scarecrow materialized from out of the very mist he'd created. He paused a few feet from her and the now whimpering boy and purred, "Now what will you do, my dear? You have nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide."

He was right and Raya knew it. She didn't have anywhere to go. There was nowhere to hide. She wasn't completely done for, however. His minions circled around him, hulking shadows wearing burlap masks and promising pain. Even with the skills and training Bruce had given her, the odds were more than solidly in his favor. A breath of wind billowed past her ear at that moment and she swore she heard Bruce speaking to her from the shadows.

"Always remember to fight smarter, not harder."

It was the third lesson he'd taught her. She mentally went over what items she had with her. She had two textbooks, and a handful of pens. Little help there. The bag and books combined could work as a temporary weapon. The mist would render her invisible and allow her to move among them without them being able to see her. Striking fast, striking hard was her best option. Get in, and out before they could land a blow against her. From there she had... the _flare_. Her lips curved. She could use the flare to cause a distraction.

Raya set the boy down, quieting his protest by cupping his cheek before reaching into a pocket of her backpack. She had this one move she could make, and she needed to make it _count_.

"Come with me now," Scarecrow crooned to her, holding out the hand which was covered by that Freddy Krueger like glove. In the shadows created by the dense mist, the syringes which tipped his fingers glowed like neon symbols of toxic death. "And I will spare the boy. Defy me and you will not like the consequences."

"Go to hell," Raya spat as she pulled the flare out. She ignited it and tossed it at him, watching as a spark from the red-hot flame caught in a piece of the frayed burlap covering the doctor's skeletal arm. The Scarecrow emitted a high-pitched shriek, and began to wildly beat at the smoldering material before he tore off through the fog, desperate to find a drop of water in which to put out the cloth with. The inmates scattered once their leader abandoned them, unwilling to become her next target of attack. Raya then knelt beside the boy and curved her arms around him, crooning softly to him while she tried to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do now.

* * *

Gordon glanced over at Robin once Markinson was secure. "Hey, kid, you okay?"

Robin flashed him a cheeky grin from over his left shoulder. "Poison Ivy hits a whole lot harder than that guy does, Commissioner."

Gordon swallowed the _dad_ comment which instantly sprang to mind as soon as the boy blithely mentioned the villainess known throughout the city of Gotham as Poison Ivy. It disturbed him that any fourteen-year-old should know about the existence of, much less routinely engaging in combative measures against a woman with Pamela Isley's botanist skills. This wasn't his kid, though, and he told himself that he had no right to go _dad_ upon him. However, it wasn't easy for him to turn off his _dad-mode_.

This tousled hair youth was the same age as Barbara and Raya. For all he knew, Robin was in the same grade of junior high as his girls. He could be in one or more of Raya's primary classes. He could be someone she had known from infancy (he did look a little like Robert Samson's son, Joshua), that she had a crush upon (he could be that boy of Bruce Wayne's), that she saw every day in the cafeteria (he could be that Bronson boy now that he thought about it). In short, he could have met Robin somewhere along the way and had no idea that that young man and this masked teen were one and the same.

_Kid should be worrying about things like passing the exam to get his driver's permit, working at the local movie theater, or getting to second base with his girlfriend_, he thought. _He shouldn't be concerned with how to save an entire city that has just been saturated in fear by a burlap sack wearing freak_.

"Commissioner," he heard Robin say. "Things are going to get a whole lot worse here very soon."

"I know things are going to get a whole lot worse, son," Gordon murmured. "What do you suggest that we do, though? I don't think Batman has the quantity of antidote we need in order to counter this much fear toxin."

It was clear that Robin was thinking that very same thing. "Can you radio for more reinforcements? Keeping the people calm and out of this mist is the best that we can do for them at this point."

"It's better than doing nothing," he said before walking over to his patrol car. He could hear the sirens screaming in the distance, saw police flashers visible through the dense cloud lying heavy over the streets. Cops were out there, which meant help was out there. He just needed to get that help where it was needed the most. He keyed the cruiser's radio and identified himself to the dispatcher. The radio squawked before he'd barely checked in.

"_Jim_," he recognized the voice as that of Detective Harvey Bullock. "_Shit am_ _I'm glad ta hear your voice_. _Things have gone ta hell out here and we could use ya back here at headquarters_."

"Harvey, I need you to get all men and women not out in the streets already together," Gordon said. "Call in the tac teams, SWAT, riot squad-get 'em all in masks and..."

"_Jim, the Scarecrow was waiting outside the GCPD_."

"What?" Gordon exclaimed on a tattered breath. He heard a rustle of cloth and glanced over to see that Robin had come to stand beside him. He could read fear in the depths of those oh so familiar blue eyes and was puzzled by his reaction. He again wondered if he knew this boy. And he found himself questioning whether he was willfully turning a blind eye to the truth because he either didn't want to know, or was keeping himself from admitting it so as to protect the kid.

"The Scarecrow was waiting outside the GCPD? You're sure?"

"_I saw him with my own eyes, Jim. Burlap mask, tattered clothing, Freddy Krueger like glove on his one hand. It was Crane_."

Gordon closed his eyes for a moment. Why? he wondered. Why was the madman waiting outside police headquarters? What was the endgame of such a move? Then he felt his blood run cold as one distinct possibility for why Dr. Jonathan Crane might have been waiting outside the GCPD popped into his mind.

"Where is Raya, Harvey?"

"_Jim_..." Harvey said slowly.

"Dammit, Harvey, tell me that you got my girl home before the Scarecrow turned this damned city into one huge research experiment!"

"_Goddamn it, Jim, I turned my back for one second and she was gone." _

Jim closed his eyes and squeezed the radio in his hand. "What happened?"

_"I don't know. We were leaving HQ when she saw a kid being picked on by that rookie, Dawson. And ya know how the kid can be when she sees another kid gettin' picked on_."

He did know about how Raya could be when she saw a kid being abused. For his niece, abuse was something that ran deep. "All right," he said. "And Crane?"

"_He was waiting for the sprocket._" There was a pause punctuated by a long sigh. "_Goddamn it, Jim, the sick son of a bitch was waiting for her ta leave the GCPD_."

"Why? What possible reason could the man have for wanting Raya?" But Gordon had a burning hole in his belly and a knot in his chest that was telling him the answer was wearing a green mask and a cape. And he could tell by the sudden blanching of Robin's face that the teenager had drawn that very same conclusion.

"_Why else, Jim_?" came Bullock's gruff reply. "_It's about that damn formula of Berkeley's as much as it is a__ trap for Batman and Robin_."

He stared again at the flashing lights winking in the distance. He was the law of Gotham, a defender of truth and justice, the protector of the innocent. And yet when it was his own kid who was being hunted by a schizophrenic monster, he was unable to do anything to help her. His _dad-mode_ screamed in protest even as the rational part of his mind whispered to him that it was up to Robin to save Raya from the Scarecrow. _He can get across the city faster than I can. He can get to her before I can_. He turned his head, intending to ask the boy for his help, but found he was standing by the patrol car alone.

"Huh," he said softly. "Kid's picked up on Batman's habit of disappearing as silently as the wind."

* * *

A procession of police cars, vans, buses, and motorcycles were lining the streets outside Blackgate. GCTV news choppers as well as police helicopters whirred overhead, their spotlights sweeping over the twisted remains of what had once been the left side of the prison. Even the canine units stood at the ready, the dogs silent as they, much like every Gotham City police officer stood at the ready, just waiting for a word from their Commissioner telling them to sweep in, hunt down, and lockup the scum that the Scarecrow was trying to release upon their ravaged city.

Batman parked the Batmobile by a row of abandoned cruisers and was about to step from the car when a soft chime in his ear alerted him to an incoming call. Only five people knew this private number. He'd spoken to Alfred a number of minutes ago and knew that Crane had set off some sort of bomb in the city. Could it be Gordon then with more information? He pressed a button on the steering wheel with his thumb in order to answer.

"What is it, Jim?"

"Bruce?" He heard Dick puff.

"I'm rather busy at the moment, Dick," he said. "Is this important? Or can it wait for until after I have investigated the situation here at Blackgate?"

"That's the point of why I am calling," Dick chuffed in his ear. He heard a grunt and the scrape of gravel and pictured his boy scrambling across a rooftop en route to whatever destination he was heading too. "Blackgate is a ruse, Bruce. It was meant to keep you busy so that Crane could unleash his real plan."

"What do you mean by his _real_ plan?" Bruce asked in a hard whisper.

"That's not what is important right now..."

"That's rather funny coming from someone who disobeyed his father, and mentor just last night because he thought something else was more important than the task he was assigned."

"Do we have to get into this now?" There was a raw note of _fear_ in the younger man's voice which triggered alarm bells inside Bruce's head. Instantly, his body tensed, coiling to attack whatever and whoever had put that note in his boy's voice. Then he heard Dick sigh and could well imagine the troubled expression upon the teen superhero's face. "Bruce, I know you're mad at me for what happened last night. And I admit I should have listened to you. I should have obeyed your directives and not involved Raya in my plans. However, this isn't about last night, or about you being angry with me, or with her for that matter."

"Then why…" Bruce began but Dick cut him off, his tone fractured with worry and a snap of youthful impatience.

"Raya is in the heart of Crane's blast zone, Bruce."

It felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. His breath whooshed out and his head spun.

"What?" he rasped. "Why was she at the GCPD? Why isn't she at home?"

_Where she's supposed to be_! He silently raged. Cold and clammy tendrils began slithering around inside him, and Bruce could feel them burrowing deep in his heart. Then the leeches began giggling, fiendishly before they whispered in a warm, moist hiss, _she's ours now, Batman_. _She's ours, and there's nothing you can do about it._ He sliced those serpents in two with a thick sword made out of cold hard iron.

"Gordon had Raya with him at the GCPD when the Blackgate breakout occurred," was Dick's somber reply. "Bullock was taking her home when Crane unleashed holy hell upon the city." There was a pause and Bruce imagined it was because the boy was air born and focused upon getting to his next point of landing safely. He knew when he was again safely perched when Dick said, "She is somewhere around the GCPD, where Crane set off his first toxin bomb. And according to Bullock, he's stalking her." There was another pause. "This is about her, Bruce. Everything Crane is doing tonight has been about getting his hands upon Raya so he could force us into a trap."

Bruce suspected that the other reason for that involved her grandfather, Matthew Berkeley Sr. Kidnapping the man's granddaughter and holding her in exchange for the ingredients of a new formula Dr. Berkeley was rumored to be in the process of manufacturing was the only reason that a man like Crane could have for pulling a stunt like this. There was simply no other logical reason for why Crane would be so intent upon getting his hands upon a fourteen-year-old girl otherwise. He kept his suspicions to himself and hit the button to fire up the Batmobile's turbine engine once more.

"Where are you?" he asked Dick.

"I'm too far away for us to meet up." Bruce heard a _poom _and knew that he'd fired a grapnel line. Then his son was saying, "You have to get to her, Bruce. You have to get to her and fast. If Crane..."

Dick didn't finish his sentence.

He didn't need to finish that sentence.

Bruce already knew what would happen if Crane got his hands upon Raya.

And he swore to tear the man apart before he'd ever allow that to happen.


	4. Help Arrives

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that your week has been a good one!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

* * *

This was all _her_ fault, he thought peevishly. If the brat would not have fought him, if she would have just given into her fears like everyone else, then none of this would have happened. He was supposed to have gotten her back to his research facility over an hour ago. He was supposed to even now be making his phone call to Dr. Berkeley, demanding that the man turn over all of his research notes upon his new behavior modifying agent in exchange for the twit. Instead, he found himself wandering the streets of the city that he'd made quake with fear.

While he was wandering he realized that he had a bit of a problem: where exactly was he? That little brat's attack had completely disoriented him and the thick fog was obscuring any and all familiar landmarks from his view. He had to do something, anything, and so he chose to continue walking. And while he walked, he planned his vengeance upon the girl who'd so determinedly thwarted his capture.

The Scarecrow didn't know how long he walked, or where exactly he was walking too. He stood still, in the dark, his senses alive and tingling. Where to go? Not the asylum. The asylum was going to be crawling with activity at that time. His original destination once he had the Berkeley girl in his grasp had been a small warehouse down by Gotham docks. That could yet be an idea. How to get there without being seen by any number of the police roaming the city, or by Batman himself, could prove to be especially difficult. So where else could he go?

Suddenly he felt a shift deep with himself. Felt _Jonathan Crane_ struggling to rise to the surface and take back control. He felt that simpering, sniveling, spineless side of himself swell within him, trying to oust him, to seize control. As if he was going to allow that to happen! He had things to do, research data to gather and papers to write! But then he heard that refined little voice say, "return to the lab."

_Yes, the lab_, Scarecrow thought. _Why, it was perfect. Brilliant even_! Nobody would think to look for him in his former lab at Gotham University. They wouldn't believe that he'd dare to return to the very place where he'd begun his research in the phenomenon known as fear. He cackled, long and low, and was about to turn in the direction he presumed the university was when a black car pulled up at the curb beside him. Scarecrow turned to gaze at the black luxury vehicle, mildly curious about who could be inside. The back right passenger side window lowered.

"Dr. Crane?" a deep, masculine voice asked from the darkness of the car's interior.

_No_! he wanted to scream. _Not Dr. Crane! Scarecrow_! But was he? he suddenly wondered. Was he the Scarecrow? Or was he Dr. Jonathan Crane? No, he was neither one, exactly. He was _both_ Jonathan Crane and the Scarecrow at that moment. And wasn't it fitting that a superior being such as himself would have more than the paltry single identity that the rest of humanity was in possession of? He pulled off the burlap mask and became Dr. Crane once more.

"Yes, I am Dr. Crane," he replied politely. "Is there something that I may do for you?"

"Oh, yes," the man whispered in a low, dark voice. "There is something that only _you_ can do for me, Doctor."

"And what is it that you need me to do for you?"

"Get in and I shall tell you what it is that I want from you."

The door opened and the doctor saw a hand that was plump and very tan retract back into the dark interior. At the wrist, white cuffs were studded with square diamonds. The nails were buffed to a dull sheen and neatly clipped. On the man's pinky was a sapphire the size of a dove's egg. It was the telltale sign of wealth and privilege. Things which Jonathan Crane craved, but had never had the pleasure of having. Still, there was a certain element of propriety which had been overlooked here, and Crane felt it necessary to correct that oversight before agreeing to any business dealings with this man.

"I'm afraid we are at a bit of an impasse, my good man," he simpered. "You see, you know who _I_ am, but I am quite ignorant as to who _you_ are…" he trailed off and smiled expectantly.

There was a slight sound which could have been a sigh before he heard the man say, "Berkeley," in a darkly arrogant tone. "Matthew Berkeley Jr."

Crane frowned, dark brows drawing together over his sharp nose. "You would not happen to be the father of Raya Berkeley, now, would you?"

"Indeed, I am, Dr. Crane," Berkeley replied coolly. "And it is my daughter that I wish to speak with you about. Now, get in."

Crane did.

* * *

The boy was shaking like a leaf, so Raya scooped him up into her arms and cuddled him close as she made her way through the dense fog. The going was slow, and she had no idea if she was even going in the right direction. All Raya knew was that if she could get back to police headquarters, if she could get him inside, he'd be out of this nightmare Crane had created. From her uncle's office in the GCPD she could call Alfred and have him relay a message to Bruce about what was going on. Then it was just a matter of holing up inside the GCPD until either Bruce or Dick was able to get to them. And if the dynamic duo was not able to get to them, well, so long as they could hold out until the sun rose...

Shadows began to appear in front of her, black shapes undulating in the pearlescent mist like sea serpents—at least eight to ten of them from what little she could see. One of the figures glided into a thin beam of light created by a car headlight and she saw he was wearing a SWAT jacket over his orange prison garb. She recognized the man almost immediately: _Taylor Jensen_. Her computer-like mind did a quick mental search, pulling up everything she knew about this man. He was a repeat sex offender. Had a particular liking for little boys that were about the age of the one in her arms. Was a sexual sadist. Raya had to get the boy as far away from him as she could.

_Now'd be a really good time to just drop in, Grayson_, she thought as a surge of desperation streaked through her. Getting him to higher grounds, and quickly, was her only available option. She darted over to the side of a building, searching for a fire-escape ladder in which she could lift the boy up too. She finally located one, but she wasn't tall enough to reach the bottom rung.

Frustration as well as fear scorched through her. If it was just herself that she needed to worry about here, she would turn and fight. Bruce had been instructing her in hand-to-hand combat for the last nine months and she'd gotten pretty proficient at defending herself. But she couldn't risk putting the boy in harm's way. Not with Jensen on the loose.

She heard footsteps shuffling behind her and hugged the boy to her, racking her brain for what she could do. She had no weapon, no phone, and she'd used her only signal flare in order to scare off Crane. She stepped sideways, and her foot connected with something solid. She glanced down and saw the body of the uniformed cop who'd aimed his gun at her earlier.

The inmates drew closer. One of them was giggling. And she saw Jensen's face had a hard, hungry look on it that had her belly twisting violently. She left the boy by the wall of the building and knelt by the officer's body, searching it. His sidearm was missing (not surprising in her mind), as was his holdout pistol (again, not surprising). She pulled the can of pepper spray he had attached to his belt…

"Get back," she gritted. "I'm warning you…"

Jensen just grinned and continued coming towards her. Raya took a deep breath and aimed the can. Her finger squeezed the trigger. She wouldn't be able to spray all of them, but so long as she could spray Jensen, then the boy would be safe. For now…

A rasping command came from the darkness above her, "Take care of the boy, Raya."

Even as a relief so profound swamped her, threatened to send her to her knees in a sniveling, groveling mess, a dark figure swooped between her and the convicts. There was the satisfying sound of a fist meeting flesh, a grunt, and then Jensen fell. Raya grabbed hold of the boy at the same moment Bruce grabbed Raya. She felt him reach for something beneath his cape, knew he'd grabbed his grapnel gun and heard the _schwoo_ after he fired a line.

Then they were air born, cutting through the choking mist, shooting past the brick wall, over a parapet, and onto a roof. Raya knew that as soon as her feet hit solid ground that she should let go of Bruce. There were rules that needed to be obeyed, appearances that needed to be maintained, but she just couldn't bring herself to let him go. Her breath came out as a tattered rasp and her body began to tremble. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the faint smell of his aftershave and finding comfort in it.

"Are you okay?" she heard him ask in that achingly familiar rumble she knew was _Batman's_.

She opened her mouth to answer him, to let him know she was okay, but no sound save for a small squeak came forth. She tried to force her arm to unwind from around his neck, ordered herself to let him go, but her arm simply refused to heed her command. Every single ounce of her screamed at her about how innocent people needed Batman more than she did, that they were suffering through their fears and required their silent guardian to protect them. But she just couldn't bring herself to be rational. Not when nothing, _nothing_ had ever felt as good to her as the solid rock wall she was clinging too.

For once in her young life, Raya Kean was _selfish_. She took for herself, was greedy, thought of what _she_ needed instead of what someone _else_ needed. And when those sticky fingers of guilt tugged and pulled at her conscience, she snapped back that she was fourteen and that this lapse was absolutely forgivable. Tears welled, fell like rain, and wet the column of his throat. She felt his chest vibrate as he made a low murmur deep in his throat, and felt his hand as it stroked down over the cap of her hair, along the taut line of her back.

"You're safe now," he told her quietly. "He can't hurt you...either of you, anymore."

"I know. I know we're safe," she whispered finally in a voice she almost didn't recognize as her own. "It's just..."

"Shh," he crooned in that velvet baritone she recognized as _Bruce's_. "Just take a moment and let it all settle, Raya."

That, Raya decided as she settled the boy more securely upon her left hip, was absolutely the best idea that she had heard all that evening.

* * *

Dick found them still wrapped around each other about five minutes later. He'd been one ball of tension ever since he'd heard Detective Bullock say the Scarecrow was stalking Raya. That knot didn't ease until he saw she was safely ensconced in Bruce's arms, in shock clearly, but relatively unharmed. He took a moment to pull himself together before he walked over to the trio. His eyes met Bruce's briefly and he read the emotions which flashed through those eyes and knew that the night had taken a toll upon his mentor as much as it had upon him.

"Are you all right?" he asked Raya in a soft voice.

"Yeah," he heard her reply in a voice which was thick still with unshed tears. She turned red-rimmed eyes upon him. "Yeah, I'm all right."

Hollow-eyed and pale, and far from all right, was his opinion. He kept it to himself, however. Last thing she needed was him poking fun at her for her overly emotional state. He decided to do something about that state by saying to her, "Aw, c'mon now, Rae, as if this wasn't just another game between us and the Gotham Bad Guys." He flashed a cheeky grin at her. "Ya should be used to how they like playing ball with us by now."

"Yeah, well, ya coulda showed up about five minutes ago, bird boy," she huffed. "Before the psychosexual predator decided _he_ was going to become the next player up on deck."

"You had a pinch hitter arrive in time," he pointed out. "So quit your complaining."

The little boy upon her hip angled his head around to look at him then, and Dick saw his eyes were these huge blue balls dominating the majority of his small face. Shock intermingled with awe and Dick gave him a reassuring smile in hopes it would calm him. He knew Bruce had already delivered a dose of antidote to the boy, that it would have been the second thing he'd have done, the first being get the two to safety.

He thought the kid looked oddly familiar, but there was not enough light at the moment for him to make out his features well enough. He must have shivered because Raya shrugged out of her hoodie (well, it was actually _his _hoodie, he realized, giving her a baleful look) and wrapped it around him.

"Who's your new friend?" he asked her.

Raya angled her head to look down at the boy. He was staring at Dick with such wide-eyed fascination and a toddler's excitement that it made her smile. _Someone has a case of Robin worship_, she thought with a small degree of bemusement. Not that she blamed him. She had a pretty serious case of Batman_ and _Robin worship herself. The world became illuminated for one brief second when a helicopter flying overhead bathed the rooftop in white light. Raya recognized him once she saw him. _Drake_, she thought. _His last name is Drake_. So… "Is your name Timothy, sweetie?"

He nodded once before tucking his head against her shoulder. She glanced over at Bruce. "I know him," she told the silent hero. "I've watched him while his parents have attended functions that my father held at the Estate."

"Who are his parents?"

"Janet and Jack Drake."

Bruce started. "Dr. Jack Drake?" Surprise tinged his voice.

"As in the world famous Archaeologist," Raya replied stiffly. "Yes."

Dick got the sense from the sudden shift in her tone and expression that there was something she wasn't sharing with them. Didn't take a scientist to figure out that the _something_ had to do with the boy she was holding in her arms and his jet set parents. Raya had some very _specific_ opinions about neglectful parents. Opinions that Dick knew were not kind, nor favorable.

Bruce turned and stared out over the city buried beneath that thick mist. The steam still slithered through the streets, was split occasionally by a blast of water from one of the gushing water mains. A high-pitched shriek or low, keening wail shattered the silence of the night every now and again. Raya found she preferred the screams to the moans. She watched as he climbed up onto the parapet.

"Where are you going?"

"To help," he said over his shoulder. "Let's go, Robin."

Raya clutched his cape with frantic fingers. "There's nothing you can do for the infected people," she told them both. "Until the mist burns off, it is hopeless and pointless. They are trapped in their fears. It's exactly what Crane hoped to achieve when he concocted this plan. A city literally trapped in its fear."

Bruce gave a slow nod of his head. "And we might not be able to help the infected overcome their fears," he told her gently. "But we can at least prevent them from tearing the city and themselves apart in the process."

Raya got what he was saying. She understood. He needed to do whatever he could because he couldn't do what he wanted. It was a matter of helping who you could even while knowing that large majorities of people were still going to suffer. It was her Uncle Jim who'd told her that there was not always "a happy ending at the end of the night for a crime fighter." More often than not, their nights ended with regrets and recriminations, with deeply-seeded traumas and hurts that would never heal.

Before he jumped, Bruce leaned down and said in Raya's ear, "Go inside and call Alfred. Have him come and pick you up. Tell him to take you back to the penthouse."

"What about Tim?" she asked. She turned troubled eyes up to his. "I can't leave him here. Not after everything he's been through tonight."

Bruce ran his hand over the cap of her hair. "Alfred will figure out what to do for him, kiddo. Now go on. Get _him_ and _you_ inside the building. And," he added in a firm voice, "don't leave the building until Alfred comes for you, all right?"

"All right," she replied. She glanced over at Dick. "Bring him home safe, Robin."

_And you come home safe, too_, she told him silently.

"Okay, I'll bring Batman home safe." He gave her a playful grin. "But who's gonna bring _me_ home safe? Thinking I need my own sidekick here. Preferably one with green eyes and..."

"Go." She huffed. "Fight crime."

He jumped to the top of the parapet. "You're gonna miss me when I'm gone."

"You keep yapping and I'm gonna push you off that ledge."

"Nah, ya won't," he taunted in a sing-song voice. "Ya love me ta much ta do something like that ta me."

Then he stepped off into darkness. Raya merely rolled her eyes at his cheekiness before turning to head towards the roof access door. She looked down at the boy in her arms.

"Robin's really _not_ as cool as you think he is," she said to him. "He's kinda a dork actually."

The boy replied by giving her a heart-melting grin around the thumb he'd stuck in his mouth. "Uh-huh," was all he said. Raya just snorted a laugh.


	5. Aftermath

**A/N:** Hello m'dears and goodbye! This is the finale of this adventure (but only one small part of the entire journey)! I hope those of you who have read this story have enjoyed it as much as I have enjoyed writing it :)

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

* * *

A minute after Batman and Robin vanished, Raya walked over to a roof access door that had been propped open. The inner stairwell was black as pitch. She felt her stomach churn with fresh dread and the fear lingering at the back of her mind. She swallowed her momentary misgivings, shoved back the memories that the neurotoxic mist had awoken inside her and entered the darkened stairwell with Tim grasped firmly in her arms. The building was an older one that smelled of mold and onions and other, even more pungent smells she didn't even care to think about at that moment. She remained alert as she crept down the stairs. Who knew who, or _what _could be hiding in the shadows?

Several doors along the murky hallway had been left open as the people tried to flee the calamity befalling the city. All but three of the apartments she passed had television sets still on. Any minute and the occupants could return to their homes. Quite a few of them, she suspected, would be fueled by anger and terror. Combined, both emotions were corrosive and dangerous ones. The last thing she needed was a confrontation with someone out of their head with fear and pissed off because of it. Holding Tim tighter, she descended farther, all the way to the first floor of the complex. There she found a working payphone that she used to call Alfred.

Tim stopped trembling by the time she hung up, but his eyes were wide in his tiny face and he'd occasionally whimper whenever there was a scream from one of those afflicted by the mist. Raya settled into a huge armchair in the front foyer to wait for Alfred to arrive and rest her lips against his temple. He snuggled against her with a tiny sigh that had her lips curving. As they waited, she allowed her mind to wander. At first, she thought about the events of that night, the implications from what all had happened and what it meant for future. Then she thought about Tim.

Once, _she'd_ been this little boy. She'd been the kid who'd been afraid of the things that went bump in the night. She'd been the prey a hungry predator had stalked. She'd been the prize he'd wanted to collect. And just like Tim, she'd been left alone to face that man. Uncle Jim hadn't been able to be there to wipe away her tears or soothe away her fears. He hadn't been able to there to protect her from the man whose madness had cried out for him to hurt her.

Not even her own mother and father had been there to protect her from Branson's perversions (not that they'd have cared about it one way or another).

No, the man who'd chosen to protect her had been one wearing a cape and mask. Batman had no reason, nor any obligation to protect her. Yet he'd pitted himself against that man who'd wanted to hurt her, and hurt him instead. Yet only Raya knew how Batman had done so much more than rescue her that night.

He'd become so much more than some legendary _hero_.

He'd become so much more than a _friend_.

He'd become the _father_ she'd been so desperately in need of.

Another scream blasted the silence of the night, causing Tim to jump. Raya rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles.

"I've got you, kiddo. So long as you are in my arms, you are safe." She spoke the same words that Bruce had spoken to her that night. "So long as you're with me, you're okay. I won't let anything, or anyone hurt you."

_I promise_, she vowed silently.

* * *

Out on the streets, two apparitions, one cloaked in the colors of the night while the other wore scarlet, daffodil and forest green, burst into the midst of a group of Blackgate escapees, knocking them down as if they were bowling pins. Batman and Robin fought like a well-oiled machine, whirling in synchronized motion, always in perfect step with the other. It was a testament of how well each knew the others thoughts and movements. The convicts tried to rally, they put up the best fight they could, but they were just no match for the Dynamic Duo. Arms were easily snapped, ankles got twisted, and bodies sent flying in the matter of minutes. Soon, all the convicts were left lying face down upon the pavement, their wrists and ankles ziptied together.

Silence descended once more, but was broken by an occasional scream or moan. Robin turned to see Batman standing over one fallen inmate with his hands upon his hips. He could tell by the tick in the older man's jaw that it was taking everything he had to keep his vitriolic temper in check. A quick glance told him why. _Taylor Jensen, _the Boy Wonder thought as he strolled over_. Repeat sex offender. Has a particular liking for little boys that were about the age of Timothy Drake. Sexual sadist. _

It was a personal trigger for Bruce, he knew. Any crimes involving children were things that his mentor tended to take personally. However, he also knew that Bruce and Raya's lives intersected because of a sexual predator who'd gone after her when she'd been just a couple of years older than Tim. For Batman, it was personal. A lingering reminder that filth like this was out there in the world and hurting children he _couldn't _protect.

Well, he could help with taking his mind off that.

"What? No more?" He shot a cheeky grin at his grim partner. "And here I was just starting to have fun." One of the prisoners slowly started to crawl his way out of the alley. "Hey, looks like fugly there hasn't gotten our hint about staying face down on the concrete with his arms behind his back."

Batman booted the man in the head before turning to stalk towards him, his cape fluttering behind him like a pair of greedy, grasping fingers just itching to wrap around a few of the prisoners throats. The pointy ears of the cowl cast an ominous shadow upon the ground. However, he saw that those eyes blazed with emotions that he knew were akin to the same parental fear clawing away at James Gordon. Yet, Dick also knew that part of the rage simmering within the older hero was out of his feelings of helplessness.

There was just no way to save all the people who'd unfortunately encountered the mist.

Robin could almost guarantee that there would be enough of the antidote after tonight, though. If there was one thing he could always count upon with Bruce, it was that he'd rectify a situation like this and ensure that there were plans in place to ensure that it'd never happen again.

"What are we going to do?" he asked him slowly. "I know we don't have enough of the fear antidote on hand to help the people that have been infected by this toxic mist. But there's something that we can do to help them, right?"

"No, Robin, there isn't anything that we can do to help them," Batman told him in a subdued voice. "As you said, we don't have enough of the antidote on hand to administer to so many people."

"And synthesizing more requires time that we do not have."

That cowled head nodded. "Yes," he said. Then, "And their exposure has been a prolonged one. For many the antidote won't fix the damage that has been caused."

"You're figuring that prolonged exposure to the toxin has damaged their amygdala, aren't you? And," he continued, "that because of their prolonged exposure they will suffer paranoia-nervous disorders and potential breakdowns, psychopathy and other possible cognitive disorders?"

"I see you've taken learning cognitive psychology from Raya much more seriously than when I was trying to teach it to you," Batman remarked dryly.

Robin gave him a lopsided grin. "Well, duh," he joked. "Not only is she adorable when she's being super geeky, but I can wheedle the answers to the quizzes out of her much easier than I can out of you."

Batman just shook his head. "I'm going to finish rounding up the convicts," he told him. "You get back to the penthouse and get changed." His lips twitched, just for a second. "I have a feeling that we'll be having a guest staying with us for the next few days."

"Figured that out, too, huh?"

"Mm," was Batman's noncommittal reply. He walked away, going from convict to convict as if he was counting the number of bodies that lined the ground. He crouched at one point, staring at something, but Robin wasn't sure exactly what.

"Why do you think Raya is being so protective of Tim?" he questioned while watching him poke at something. "Is it because he's a kid?"

"It's in her nature to protect children," Batman replied quietly. "Especially ones as small as Timothy Drake."

"Do ya think this is because he's the first kid she's managed to rescue _almost _by herself from one of the special crowd of villains we tend to attract?"

Batman glanced over at him, a thoughtful expression upon his face. "There is some part of her that is reacting to being the one who stopped him from being harmed, yes," he said slowly. "However, I think that it is more because she sees Timothy Drake is like her—a kid who has parents who are more interested in themselves than they are in raising their son. Neglectful parents are as much a trigger for her, Robin, as abusive ones."

Robin sighed. "Ya might wanna teach her that kids are not like puppies and kittens." His lips twisted into a playful smirk. "And to tell her that she can't adopt every kid that she just happens to rescue from a guy like Crane."

"She adopted you, chum."

Robin scoffed. "She… " he paused. "Wait, _what_? Was that… _humor_?" Robin's mouth dropped open as he goggled. "Holy moly," he said even as Bruce's lips curved with amusement. "Guess I owe Alfred twenty bucks. I told him you didn't possess a sense of humor."

Batman harrumphed. "And you now have double Robin homework for the next month for that bit of witticism."

Robin just groaned.

* * *

James Gordon stood next to his unmarked squad car an hour after hell had been unleashed upon the city. The gutter nearest him was still clogged with rushing water, as though the city had merely been hit by a massive storm. Yet the sky above him was crystal clear. The low hanging moon was big as a flying saucer as it slowly slid into the embrace of the horizon, the stars little diamonds that slowly winked before fading out. So the water was definitely coming from burst pipes. Hundreds of pipes and water mains, he realized with a sigh. Each and every one of them a conduit Crane had been able to use in order to fill the city with his hallucinogenic mist. A toxin, he knew now, that had left hundreds of people in the grips of their own personal nightmares. What was left of that mist was slowly burning away with the encroaching dawn.

Gordon found that he had no reason to continue staring at the water, or to remain standing next to his car waiting for word that Crane had been spotted. He already knew the psychotic freak had managed to sneak away in the confusion. He, much like the dark knight, knew the Scarecrow would return just as soon as he had a new batch of that damned toxin ready. For now, he'd call it a night. He'd go home, make sure Barbara was okay and get a few hours of much needed rest. He told himself he didn't need to worry about his youngest girl. Raya was in the safest hands of them all.

He'd made sure of that when he'd charged Batman with protecting his girl seven years before.

The man hadn't been derelict in his duty yet.

Gordon doubted he ever would be.

* * *

During the short drive back to the penthouse a few hours later, he used the phone in the Batmobile to call Lucius Fox and, in his _Bruce Wayne_ voice, issued some instructions. Although it was close to six in the morning, Fox sounded like he was fully awake, and when Bruce finished the call, Fox was already in the process of shipping out what antidote they had on hand to the hospitals that were overflowing with people who had been gassed by Crane and ordering the production of more.

Bruce parked the Batmobile in the bunker below Wayne Towers before he slowly made the transformation from exhausted vigilante to the _just-coming-home-from-a-date-playboy_ he'd pretend to be. Alfred made tea, a cup of Earl Gray for each of them. Then he helped Bruce with removing the suit. Between the two of them, they got the suit off and put away in one of the spare cases the bunker had. Alfred took a moment to survey his employer's flesh for signs of fresh bruises, scrapes or burns. There were no outward signs of physical injury, which was unusual given the physical nature of Master Bruce's nocturnal career, but something that provided the butler with a small bit of relief.

"Uneventful night, sir?" he asked dryly.

Bruce glanced over his shoulder at him. "It was not as physically demanding a night as I usually have, no, Alfred."

"Small miracles do happen."

Bruce moved his arms, legs, rolled his shoulders, stretching sore and stiff muscles. It had been a very long, very emotional draining night. "Where are the kids?" he asked as he crossed to the elevator.

"They are resting comfortably, sir," the older gentleman replied before pressing the button for the penthouse. "They rather fell asleep about thirty minutes before you arrived home, in fact."

Bruce's lips curved at the corners. "And how did you slip them the Benadryl this time?"

"It was in their hot chocolate."

Bruce swallowed a laugh before asking, "Was Gordon able to track down the housekeeper that Raya says normally takes care of the boy when the Drakes are away on business?"

Alfred nodded. "The housekeeper is currently recuperating at Gotham General." He looked over at Bruce, his expression grave. "She was given quite a knock on the head but was not infected by the Scarecrow's toxin thankfully."

"Were there any problems in getting permission for the boy to stay here with us for the next day or so while the housekeeper recuperates?"

"None, sir," Alfred replied. "Mrs. Mac, in fact, seemed quite satisfied with having Master Timothy stay with us while the police work upon contacting the boy's parents."

"Do they have any idea about where the Drakes are?"

"Miss Raya did some inquiring and apparently," the butler indicated in a tone of voice Bruce recognized as the one Alfred used whenever he wanted to convey his displeasure. "Mr. and Mrs. Drake are on an archaeological dig in South America. They left word at the University that they would be out of contact for the next six weeks or so."

Bruce imagined that that particular piece of information had not gone over well with Raya. She'd become quite outspoken about domestic violence and parental neglect since her mother's death. She ferreted much of her free time between school and training to various organizations and charities which sought to aide those who found themselves in abusive situations. His imp had become quite the crusader in the last few months, channeling her rage and grief into helping others who found themselves in situations similar to her own.

_Just like him_.

He'd supported her in that endeavor, encouraged it even. He'd also favored her decision to learn more than just some basic fighting techniques. He'd understood that learning how to defend herself; protect herself was something she needed in order to overcome the abuse she'd suffered. It was another step in taking back what her father had stolen from her. Agreeing to train her had come with stipulations, the first being that she was not to go out on patrols. They'd worked out a reasonable compromise that suited her, Jim and himself quite nicely.

After the events of that night, though, he wondered if Raya would raise the subject of allowing her to finally go out on patrols. A part of him, the one which he knew was the vigilante, couldn't help but be proud of how she'd handled herself while in the face of serious danger. She'd remained cool and calm, thinking logically and doing what was necessary to keep the boy and herself safe while waiting for either him or Robin to arrive for the assist. However, a part of him hoped that she wouldn't bring the topic up. Putting her in the field with Crane as well as her father on the loose was not something he (or Jim Gordon) could allow.

He crept over to check upon the three figures stretched out upon the huge sectional situated in the middle of the living room. The penthouse may have been swamped in shadows, but he had no trouble navigating the sea of furniture in the pre-dawn light. He looked down at the trio who were lying there, fast asleep. Dick's arm was curved protectively around Raya, who was sleeping with her head cradled on his shoulder, her hand curled upon his chest. The little boy, Timothy, was snuggled between the back of the couch and Dick's other side, his head resting comfortably upon the older boy's chest, his thumb in his mouth.

Yet, it was the sight of both the teen's hands, resting protectively upon the boy's back, their fingers interlocked, that untied the strings which had kept his heart bound through the course of the hellish night. Emotions, raw and rabid, surged at the sight of that simple, warm and affectionate gesture. Even asleep, the two were a bonded pair and willfully pitting themselves against whatever enemy might try to harm the child who was currently under their care and protection.

"She's changed so much in the last nine months," he told Alfred in a hushed tone. "She's gained self-confidence and lost the haunted, hunted look she had when she first came to stay with us."

"Miss Raya is not the only one who has changed in these nine months," Alfred said gently. "You have changed as well, sir. And," he added after a moment's pause, "so has Master Richard. You're both happier when she's here."

Bruce cast a glance over his shoulder at the older man, a wry smile on his lips. "They've brought joy and light into my world, Alfred. The Manor does not seem the same lonely, sad place when they are there. And my life doesn't seem so empty now that they are part of it."

"I would say that their lives do not seem so empty now that they have _you, as well._"

Bruce tucked a stray curl behind Raya's ear, skimmed his thumb over that silky cheek. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost them."

"I do not think that that is something you will ever have to worry about, Master Bruce."

"A father _always _worries about that, Alfred," Bruce said.


End file.
